


I've Learned to Love the Lie

by AwwKeyboardNo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beta Wanted, Coda 5x05, Coda 5x06, Coda 5x07, Cuddling, F/M, Gen, Major Spoilers, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, Season/Series 05, Stiles Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Wolf Coda, spoilers for Teen Wolf 5x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwwKeyboardNo/pseuds/AwwKeyboardNo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The panic and the horror of what he had done was smothering him. He needed someone to tell him that things were okay, even though they weren’t. Would never be alright again. But if, for a moment, he could pretend, he might last long enough to get through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, spoilers for Teen Wolf 5x05. I saw it coming. I knew it was going to happen. But it still shocked me. I am still in shock. Someone pinch me and then give that boy a warm blanket and a hug.
> 
> This is not Beta read and I am still relatively new to the Teen Wolf scene. I'm sorry if anything feels off.
> 
> Sterek feels because I can, Sciles angst because Teen Wolf, Stalia cuteness because they needed it, and Stydia because brotp. Or if you ship them go right ahead and read it like that. 
> 
> I might add to this after next Monday. Especially if there are Mama Stilinski feels/angst.
> 
> Also, when the boys have their breakup and their make up. 
> 
> No meanness was meant to any character. Especially not to Scott. I adore Scott. He's like Captain America or someone equally good. But if you were in Stiles's position, what would you think?

It was a strange thing, he thought detachedly, even as his nerves made a knotted nest in his throat. It was an absolutely peculiar feeling to know that he had killed someone. It was a new, but not completely unfamiliar, feeling. He’d felt at fault for many deaths over his lifetime: Mom, Erica, Boyd, all those people at the hospital, oh _god_ , Allison. But as pathetic as it was, he’d been able to excuse those as beyond his control and pretend to move on. If only for some semblance of normality.

But this.

It was his hands, his arms, his body, _his mind_ , that had led to Donovan’s death. There were no excuses to fall back on; no way to write this blame off to someone else--not to Gerard, or Peter, or the Nogitsune. _He_ had killed someone.

Stiles was a _murderer_.

And now…

Now whatever was to happen in the future with the Dread Doctors--that was his fault too.

Scott was going to hate him.

Stiles stumbled in his pacing, catching a foot on his desk chair. The brief struggle knocked his shoulder into the sharp corner of his desk. He swallowed a scream behind his teeth.  

He wobbled over to his bed and collapsed on it.

Murder.

"I should have just let him kill me," he said into his pillow. "All I do is fuck up anyway. Dying would have been more helpful in the long run."

If he'd been dead, there was no way that Scott would have gone with Kira and Lydia to Eichen House, no way that they would have sent Lydia into the ward by herself. They wouldn't have led the Doctors to Vallack.

He would be better off dead.

He shuffled his body so his eyes could face the open window. He couldn't feel the breeze at all, feeling nothing but numb.

The thought of jumping barely passed his mind before he dismissed it. Even if he wanted to die that way (too easy to get wrong, he'd had the thought already), he had too much to make up for first.

With his guilt to tether him, he might last long enough to make up for a little of his mistakes.

Then...

Well, then it depended on whether Scott needed him or not.

\------

His sleep was fitful, as it usually was. But the dream was a new one.

Donovan was caught in a silent scream, the length of metal blooming from his chest like a silver and crimson flower. In front of him, Stiles's hands took on the same deformity that Donovan's had. The gaping, sharp little mouths tugged his arms forward and latched themselves on the dying boy's throat. He could feel the observing eyes of the Masters, the Doctors.

They reached for him.

Stiles shot up with a yelp, startling further when he spotted his father standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. The man took a half step forward and Stiles shrank backward, sitting on his hands as though to hide the invisible remnants of their dream state.

His dad looked very worried now. Stiles wanted to tell him not to bother. He wasn't worth the comfort.

His eyes burned and his tore his gaze from his father. He choked down the sob that wanted to burst out of him.

"Stiles, you okay kiddo?" the Sheriff asked, moving forward slowly, like he was approaching a feral animal.

And was that so far from the truth?

"I'm fine," Stiles managed, voice raspy like he'd been screaming.

The Sheriff's face was tired, lined, sad. He ran a soft hand over Stiles's head. The sob came rattling back up his throat and burst out of his mouth uninvited.

His dad pulled him into a hug. The sob was followed by a burst of grief and guilt and Stiles buried his face in his dad's shoulder.

"I really messed up dad," he sobbed. "I don't know what to do. I can't take it--I--I--"

The story came out haltingly, in between stutters and gulping down tears. Stiles clutched tightly to the back of his dad's shirt, like this hug could be the last one. As the story came to a faltering end, his dad only clutched tighter to his son. Stiles couldn't bite back the tears.

"I'm sorry," he cried into the man's shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to. I should have just let him--"

He cut himself off. His dad didn't need to hear that.

He tried to burry his face farther into his dad's shoulder, not bearing to look up and see what this news had done to the man.

His dad was holding a murderer.

Stiles must have said that out loud, because his dad said softly, "I am not holding a murderer, I'm holding my son, who acted in self defense."

"Scott said that they were victims, that killing them isn't justifiable." Stiles clung to him tighter. "Don't tell him. He's going to hate me, I can't--"

_I'm gonna lose Scott. I'm going to lose my best friend._

The Sheriff was well aware of Stiles's high opinion of his best friend; the somewhat terrifying lengths his boy would go for Scott. The thought that Scott might not feel the same, wouldn't understand, was a little bit hard to believe, but the Sheriff kept it to himself. He just held his child in his arms and prayed to his wife to look out for their boy.

\----

Stiles waited for the soft rumbling of his dad's snores to reverberate through the house before he slipped out the door. He'd be back before morning. There was no need to worry his dad anymore. The air outside was biting on his face, still sticky from dried tears. The wind was cold and it aggravated his shoulder painfully.

He took a look at his barely there jeep and sighed. He looked up at the clouds rolling in. He shrugged tiredly. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Stiles started to walk.

The little group of apartments weren't far from his house; a mile at the most. But then, everything was close to everything in Beacon Hills. Stiles slipped inside the building unnoticed, climbing the stairs two at a time. When he reached the floor, he stopped to stare at the closed door.

He picked the lock.

The large room was just as he remembered it and some semblance of a warm feeling briefly lit up his chest before it was gone. He was alone up here, just as he was alone out there.

The only possible person who could understand what he's going through was thousands of miles away.

He gave a shuddering sigh and walked teeteringly over to the futon that still sat in the middle of the room. He fell face down upon it.

"What do I do Derek?" he asked to the empty room. "I've got blood on my hands and it won't come off..."

The room, predictably and thankfully, didn't answer him back.

"What did you do, after Peter, the first time?" He asked. He already knew the answer. Derek hadn't coped well with having to kill his Uncle and assume the role of Alpha. The role fit him like a shoe three sizes too small. Like Stiles's lungs inside his chest. Not enough room to exist properly.

"You weren't that much older than me," he said quietly. "A little more damaged, a little more angry..."

He swallowed the sob that wanted to slip past his mouth. "I wish you'd come back. I need your help Derek. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

The room was silent, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

\---

****  
  
_How is it, that I am the monster, when you are the one causing death._

He woke to the sound of his phone buzzing. Outside the sun was beginning to peak over the skyline. Stiles swore lowly and looked at his phone. Eighteen missed calls, his phone informed him. Thirty-seven text messages. The majority of them were from Scott and his dad. Of course.

His phone starting ringing again. He sighed wearily and picked it up.

"H'llo?" he said, voice still groggy from restless sleep.

"Stiles, what the hell?" Malia's voice was sharp with angry worry. He felt a small burst of affection. "Where the he'll have you been?"

"The loft. I'm at the loft. I'm sorry, I had to get out."

Malia seemed to understand because she forced no more from him. "You coming home soon?"

Stiles looked out at the window. "Yeah I'll be home in a bit."

\----

She didn’t ask him to explain. Malia knew him well enough to know when to ask. Knew that he would tell her the truth if she asked him. And that was why she would wait until he was ready to tell her. And he adored her for it.

Until then, she had smelled his grief and his exhaustion and pulled him back into his bed. She curled around him protectively and petted at his hair. And if the salty smell of tears happened to fill the air, well, she paid it no mind, except to hold him closer.

Malia looked over Stiles’s bowed head and met the sad eyes of the Sheriff. There was a silent exchange between the two of them before the Sheriff nodded and walked off to call Melissa.

He had to make sure his boy wasn’t crowded.

\---

 

He didn’t go back to school. Not yet. He couldn’t face the place where he’d ended someone’s life. It didn’t matter how many times his dad swore it wasn’t his fault. He knew the truth. Amidst all the horror and the guilt, there had been a small sliver of a feeling he’d had only once before; when his mind and body had been taken over by the Nogitsune.

The small sliver that was pleased that Donovan was dead. That didn't regret removing him from the world. The part that felt like a _monster_.

He felt sick just thinking about it.

Thankfully dad didn’t seem to inclined to hurry him back to school, so there was that.

His friends on the other hand, were a different story.

Neither Scott or Kira had been in to see him, though they had texted him a fair number of times. Lydia was in every day, bringing him his work and talking about the self-defense lessons she was taking with Parrish. He brought up the thought when he had it.

“You think...you’d be willing to teach me what you learn?” he asked her.

Lydia’s eyes filled with a large amount of empathy. Stiles wondered if she had perhaps guess what had happened and just hadn’t said anything. He didn’t dare ask.

“You don’t even have to ask,” she said, smiling. Then she began humming _I’ll Make a Man Out of You_ and Stiles found himself laughing for the first time in over a week. Lydia looked pleased.

 

\---

He wasn’t avoiding Scott. Not really. It was less avoiding him, more avoiding the subject. He just...

What was he supposed to say?

How could he look his best friend in the eye and admit that he had killed a man, self defensive and accidental as it had been? Especially when that friend had admitted distrust over his own girlfriend _almost_ killing someone. He knew it was cowardly, but he just couldn’t do it. He wasn't going to tell Scott. 

The ramifications of that, well. They remained to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He is seeing the pure hate in her eyes and he wants to die. He can’t go through this again, not when his subconscious is chanting, 'You killed her, you killed him, who’s next? Who’s next--' and spitting out his name like it’s something foul."
> 
> Stiles in the aftermath of 5x06 and during 5x07.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a week later than I planned it, but honestly....5x06 was hard to process. Also, I get annoyed when my writing doesn't fit the tone right, so I decided to wait and see what would happen in 5x07. And wow...
> 
> Due to unforeseen obligations, I only just finished watching it. I was writing as I was watching. God, that episode was painful. My poor, sweet, traumatized children.
> 
> This chapter is in present tense because the first scene needed to be in present tense, and then everything else sort of followed in the same vein.

He can’t breathe. He is reaching an abortive hand toward his closing throat and he can’t breathe. His mouth opens but no sounds can get past.

_Mom._

_Oh god, no, mom I’m so sorry._

“Stop _looking_ at me!”

He is seeing the pure, terrified hate in her eyes and he wants to _die_. He can’t go through this again, not when his subconscious is chanting, “ _You killed her, you killed him, who’s next? Who’s next--_ ” and spitting out his name like it’s something foul.

She is clawing at him and he’s barely resisting, almost ready to let her do it, and then---She isn’t mom anymore and there is some teenager trying to rip his throat out.

That’s almost an easier situation to deal with.

\---

He wants to hide away again, wants to curl up in Malia’s or his dad’s arms like a kid, but _he can’t_. Because there’s _no time_ and Theo’s ultimatum is hanging over his head like an axe. To tell the truth, or to lie some more. He can’t worry about his guilt. He has to push it down with all his other crap, so he can focus on the now.

But he _can’t_. Because this whole goddamn situation has brought it right back up again. And he _remembers_.

Mom’s case had been peculiar, he remembers. Hallucinations weren’t typical for patients of Frontotemporal Dementia, but his mom had had them, near the end. And she had been scared of him, violently repelled by the presence of her ten year old son.

Sometimes, a dark part of him wonders if she had known then what he would become, what he would do. If she had died to get away from him.

He remembers now, remembers repressing that memory back away. Having only notions of the guilt he should feel.

_You killed your mother. You killed her and now you’re killing me._

He’s not worried about telling his dad, like Theo thinks. His dad had already proved that fear to be unfounded.

It’s Scott he’s worried about. Scott, who doesn’t trust the girl he loves. Scott, who sees the world in a stark black and white. Scott, who wouldn’t understand.

He can’t bear to see Scott’s face if he knew the truth about Stiles.

It’s with a heavy heart that he agrees, and goes to help Theo with the body.

\---

“We just need to tell you the truth Hayden. And that kind of thing is usually better face to face.”

Scott’s words feel like a punch to the gut. So many of Stiles’s lies are building up, and he’s terrified about what’s going to happen when the dam breaks. Scott’s going to hate him....

He swallows down the fear. They have to help Hayden.

\---

_Allison!_

_Lydia’s scream cuts through Stiles’s unconscious state and some part of him wrenches in absolute devastation--_

_He is standing in front of Scott and twisting the sword, twisting, even as part of him wars and scream at the other part, No, no, not Scott, never Scott, please not Scott--_

_then he is whispering, quietly, quietly, because she didn’t like it when he was loud, Wake up mom, please, you gotta wake up for dad. Please mom, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--_

_Donovan is dead, dead,_ dead _, and he is a_ murderer _._

Stop _looking at me like that!_

Stiles becomes aware that the loud gasping noises are coming from him. His eyes shoot open and he struggles desperately in someone’s arms before he recognizes them as his dad’s. He stops moving and puts a hand to his wet face.

“I can’t,” he sobbed. “Dad, I can’t.”

He leans into his dad and tries to even out his breathing.

 _I don’t know if I can live with myself anymore_ , he doesn’t say. _I don’t know that I want to_.

Instead he tries to keep breathing and listens to his dad’s heartbeat.

\---

The plan feels wrong. Nearly every bad thing that’s happened since Scott turned in Sophomore year has taken place inside the school. It feels like setting a trap for themselves inside their own trap. But Stiles can’t rock the boat, not when there’s no other choice. Not when doing so might reveal him.

_Reveal._

Stiles has an idea about the bodies.

“Whoever’s stealing the bodies probably isn’t going to do it while we’re standing guard over one of them.”

Not to mention, Stiles still feels uncomfortable leaving Theo to his own devices. He can’t find it in him to trust the other boy. This is just as much keeping watch on the clinic as it is keeping watch on Theo.

But it becomes more difficult to keep a calm head as Theo begins talking about his sister. And it should sound sad and Stiles should feel awful for not trusting this boy. But it feels _wrong_ , sinister; like the prelude to something horrible about to happen. And he can’t shake it.

Despite this though, the longer they talk the easier it becomes to calm down enough to let the other boy in. Because here is someone who _understands_. Someone who is _here_ with him and not off to parts unknown.

“I know what my punishment is,” he can’t help saying. His heart wrenches as he voices the thought out loud. “I’m going to lose my best friend. I’m gonna lose Scott.”

And that is the worst thing he can think of to happen, second only to losing him in the most permanent way.

Anything else, he can handle, right?

He doesn’t see the hand until it has already sprayed his face with Theo’s blood. And then he is tipping with in his jeep. He can’t help but spare a thought to what’s going to happen to his dad without him there before he blacks out.

There is no bright light guiding him towards his mother, only the brief flash of a _memorynightmare_ ( _Not Scott, please not Scott--_ ). And then he is awake and staring up into Theo’s worried looking face.

And he has a lot more things to worry about.

 ****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird, but I'm coming around to Theo--as the bad guy that he is. Usually I dislike the villains, not any of that love to hate stuff. But this guy is pretty damn awesome, in a ruthless, psychopathic sort of way. 
> 
> RIP Roscoe:( 
> 
> The Scott&Stiles situation is scaring me, because it can't end well for anyone. And what happened at the end with Kira's sword, well. That's not going to help.
> 
> I may have used a few theories that I have in this chapter. We'll see how that plays out.


End file.
